


It's Coming from the Soul

by ohfreckle



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 08:23:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohfreckle/pseuds/ohfreckle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seventeen year-old Arthur visits a night club for the first time and falls in lust at first sight with Eames, the resident king of disco dancing. Eames is several years older than Arthur, with a job he hates but can't afford to lose. Trying to resist Arthur is one of the hardest things he's ever done, and that's really just the beginning.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>He’s built, with wide shoulders and thick arms, but what makes Arthur’s mouth go dry is his chest. The guy is wearing the most hideous paisley shirt Arthur has ever seen, purple with yellow swirls, but it stretches so tightly over his chest that Arthur can see the outline of his pecs and nipples. Half of the buttons are undone, revealing dark blond chest hair and what seem to be the black lines of a tattoo. </i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>Arthur hates himself a little, but he will gladly forgive any crimes against fashion if they hide a body like this.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Coming from the Soul

“And so it is a crucial as ever to understand theory.”

Arthur stares blearily at the board, trying to decipher the messy chicken scrawl on it and link it to what Fitch — Mr. Fitch —is droning on about. Whoever spread lies that Fitch’s English Literature and Composition course would be informative and challenging never sat through a whole hour of agony like this or must be a teenage girl with a crush. For an older guy he’s not too bad, Arthur muses, the sad puppy look probably works like a charm on chicks.

The blank page staring back at him from his notebook makes him want to bang his head on the table. He doodles a rage face in the upper left corner, adds a second one for good measure. Maybe it’ll help if the page isn’t so empty anymore.

Of course it doesn’t, which means he’ll have to borrow Ariadne’s notes. Again, and they don’t come cheap. Ari is his best friend, but she drives a mean bargain.

Right on cue, his phone vibrates in his pocket. Arthur looks over to her with a baleful look, ignoring Barton's rude hand gesture right next to him. Ari just flashes him a shit-eating grin and makes a shooing motion with her hand. Her fingers are covered with her too long sleeves, so it looks more as if she's waving a floppy snake at him.

He stealthily tries to get his phone from his pocket, but Fitch seems to be half-asleep already from his own lecture and content to talk to his desk.

_y r u so tired, did u watch porn all nite?_

_Fuck off._ Arthur thinks that's a perfectly polite reply for that.

_I WAS AT BABYLON WHILE YOU WERE JERKING OFF!_

_NO WAY!!!_

Arthur gapes over at Ari, once again ignoring Barton who's flicking his tongue at him. She grins at him like the cat that got the cream and he's on her as soon as the bell rings.

“I hate you and you're not my friend anymore,” Arthur says. He crosses his arms and stares at her accusingly.

“Aha, so you did jerk off,” she snickers at him. Arthur does't even dignify that with a reply, just gives her a look that says 'duh, I'm seventeen.'

“Robert knows this guy who sells fake ID's, like really great ones. The guy at door didn't even bat an eye at it.”

They are the last ones to file out of the of the room, making their way to the cafeteria slowly, content with their own company for now.

“You went to Babylon with Robert Fischer and didn't tell me.”

Now Arthur is really a bit pissed. Robert is with Arthur on the running team and has the most gorgeous blue eyes Arthur has ever seen. Arthur and Ariadne both have a bit of a crush on him, but hell, everybody has a crush on Robert Fischer and yeah, Arthur probably thought once or twice about him last night while he was jerking off.

“I'm sorry. He only asked me yesterday and then I had to go and find something to wear and... Oh shit, I’m sorry, Arthur.”

Ariadne deflates a little, but not so much that she isn't still vibrating with excitement. It's hard to stay mad at her like that and she's his best friend, so Arthur still opens the door to the cafeteria for her like a gentleman and even leaves the last chocolate chip muffin for her and takes one of the slightly soggy blueberry ones for himself with his coffee.

“It wasn't even that great,” Ari says when they're finally seated, picking at her muffin with her fingers. There's glittery purple nail polish on her fingers, Arthur notices with a small grin. Ariadne only fiddles with things when she's lying, so Arthur knows that it was totally awesome.

“They had a theme night, Disco Fever, and there were mostly older people,” she says, talking to her double shot latte and not quite meeting Arthur’s eyes. Something is definitely up and Arthur wants to tell her to spill already, but getting Ari to talk when she’s not in the mood is like pulling teeth.

“It's a night club, Ari, so I guess most people were at least twenty- one,” he says patiently.

“Do you want to hear it or not,” Ari asks tartly. Her words are slightly muffled, with her chewing on what seems to be half of her muffin. She looks like a hamster and Arthur muses that it's a sign of true friendship to let somebody see you look stupid like that.

“Anyways,” she says, swallowing with some difficulty. She gestures wildly with the hand that’s holding her muffin, flinging crumbs everywhere.

“It was really awesome. Most people were dressed and dancing like in the seventies, you know, with really complicated steps and such. And I danced with this guy who everybody seemed to know. Oh my god, Arthur,” she says breathlessly, “he was so hot I almost fainted, all big muscles and broad shoulders and he had a British accent and called me pretty little darling.”

“I bet Robert was really pleased to see you almost faint in Mr. Darcy's manly arms,” Arthur teases her with a grin. Ariadne blushes furiously, her whole face turning bright red.

“He got kind of jealousandthenhekissedme,” she squeaks, covering her mouth with her hands that are once again covered by her sleeves. She looks at Arthur with wide eyes.

Oh.

Arthur feels his chest constrict with a sudden rush of jealousy and disappointment. He never made a move, but there are rumors that Robert is actually bi and he had hoped that maybe...

“That’s— that’s awesome, congrats” he says, swallowing hard.

“This is totally going to be weird now, isn't it,” Ariadne says with an unhappy frown.

“No,” Arthur sighs heavily. “Look, Ari, give me a day or two and I’ll get over it. I’ll try, ok. Just don’t make out with him in front of me.” He takes a sip from his now lukewarm coffee and grimaces. “You could have at least called or texted me after.”

It’s fascinating, really, the way Ariadne can blush even harder. “We made out in his car, and then—”

“Then you totally forgot your best friend, yeah, I get it,” Arthur interrupts her, but it’s mostly to rile her up.He’s glad to see her happy and excited, even if the thing with Robert sucks. “But I’ll let you make it up to me with your notes from today.”

“My awesome notes are worth a lot more than a missed call, jerk. But I may be persuaded to give them to you if you come with me next week.”

“To Babylon, I mean,” she clarifies when Arthur blinks at her uncomprehendingly.

“I thought it was boring with all these old people,” Arthur smirks. “And what about your new _beau_?”

“I want you to dance with me. I really loved that disco thing and I’m dying to try it again, but Robert thinks it’s girly.”

“So you’re coming to me. Ari, even I am not that gay.”

“Oh, Arthur,” Ariadne says, “if I didn’t know already, one look at your ass in those jeans would tell me you’re even a lot gayer than that.” She grins and steals the rest of his muffin. “And I already have your fake ID.”

***

“Hey dad, I wonder —”

Arthur’s father doesn’t even interrupt his phone call when Arthur stops by at his office on Friday afternoon. He just raises an eyebrow in question and mouths _What_ at him.

“I need money,” Arthur says tonelessly.

He takes the wallet his father slides over the desk at him and turns it in his hands. _Fuck it_ , he thinks and after a brief moment of consideration Arthur counts out five crisp one hundred dollar bills before giving it back. His father already isn’t paying attention to him anymore and Arthur knows he won’t check how much he took later, either.

He presses his lips together tightly and leaves without saying goodbye, slamming the door so loudly it actually rattles one of the heavily framed pictures on the wall in the waiting area. He’s irrationally angry, at his father for not even asking if there’s something he needs, but mostly at himself that he still lets himself be hurt by his father’s indifference.

Hedwig, his father’s assistant, shoots him a disapproving look before he leaves through the front door that says “Arthur Goldberg sr. & Associates” in golden letters. It doesn’t bother Arthur, he actually couldn’t care less what the old bat thinks of him and his manners. But he hates the underlying pity in it, for poor little Arthur who grew up without a mother and a father who is only willing to invest money into him but is emotionally unavailable.

His asshole father can’t even spare two hours to come and see him run for the school team, but 500 dollars mean nothing to him as long as they keep Arthur out of his hair.

Arthur takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself. He’s learned to live with the fact that he’s only an inconvenience for his father. He spent most his childhood with Ari’s family who live just down the street. He still visits them several times a week, of course to see Ariadne and because her mom insists that growing boys need proper food. But mostly he’s been taking care of himself for the last two years now. The end of the school year and college can’t come soon enough.

***

Arthur spends all the money, every last cent of it. He gets a couple of vests and shirts and a waistcoat that makes his ass look great, at least that’s what the sales guy tells him. A pick-me-up like that is just what Arthur needs and the guys seems to have good taste, so he asks him to show him some outfits for a disco night.

“Well, if you were a bit older and would go to something like, let’s say, Disco Fever at Babylon, for you I’d suggest something understated and classy.”

The guy is honest to god waggling his eyebrows at him. If Arthur is so transparent that even a total stranger can look right through his bullshit, how the hell is that fake ID supposed to fool a professional bouncer who probably sees twenty of those every night. Shit.

He decides on tight black dress pants with a high waist and a fitted red vintage shirt with a flared butterfly collar. Arthur has no idea how he’s supposed to dance in that, even breathing will be difficult, but he has to admit he looks pretty hot.

“See ya tonight, honey,” the sales guy winks at him when he shows Arthur to the door.

This is so not going to work.

***

Actually, it does work surprisingly well.

Arthur slicks his hair back to make himself look a little older and the bouncer doesn’t even take a second look at his and Ari’s IDs. He’ll have to give Fischer credit, the guy knows where to get the good stuff.

The club is already packed. Disco balls in all sizes are hanging from a ceiling that looks like a starlit night sky, lit up by rotating lights in every color of the rainbow. Half of the dance floor is made of underlit tiles flashing in different primary colors. Arthur thinks it looks pretty much like every other night club he has seen in movies and on tv, so he guesses it’s the people who give the place its undoubtedly special atmosphere.

Ariadne wasn’t kidding, everyone in here looks like they stepped fresh out of a movie from the seventies. Most women wear flared skirts and dresses that are swinging around their knees and high heeled sandals Arthur has only ever seen on Dancing with the Stars. Sneaking a look at Ariadne shows that she fits in perfectly, wearing a chocolate brown skirt and a pair of those killer heels in gold. Arthur almost pities her, her feet must feel like hell after a few hours in these.

Arthur’s own outfit seems to be the standard for guys, varying mostly by shirt colors and patterns. Some men are even wearing suits and surprisingly it doesn’t look as weird as Arthur would have expected.

“Isn’t it awesome? Say it’s awesome, come on.” Ariadne is beaming, her face already flushed with excitement. Arthur can tell she’s dying to join the dancers on the dance floor. Eying them wearily, the thought alone makes him sweat. He suddenly gets why Robert begged out of this.

There’s some kind of line dance going on, involving a complicated choreography of steps, finger pointing and hip wiggling. Four steps back, four forward, Arthur counts, a half turn with their butts sticking out, clap and kick your feet. Or was it kick and clap?

Arthur groans inwardly and resolves to accept his humiliation like a man. Ariadne is already tugging at his arm and dragging him to the dance floor, informing him that they simply cannot miss Diana Ross’ ‚I’m Coming Out‘.

“Did you actually research this?” Arthur boggles at her sudden knowledge of disco songs. The look Ari shoots him tells him exactly what she thinks of him for neglecting his own research, so he just resignedly follows her like a lamb to the slaughter.

Once in line he’s busy to not make a complete fool out of himself. He always thought he had good rhythm and was a passable dancer, but this— this is hard work and something else entirely than the dancing he knows from raves and parties.

He’s so engrossed in getting his steps right that he completely misses the sudden stop in motion and bumps into the body next to him. “Fucking kids,” the guy hisses after taking one look at him, and Ariadne, who is supposed to come to his rescue like a maid in golden heels or some shit like that, she just snickers at him. Arthur needs better friends.

He lets himself be dragged back into the crowd where everybody seems to assemble around the underlit area of the dance floor, waiting for something special to happen.

Special is the understatement of the year.

The guy coming onto the dance floor, posing for a moment with his hands on his hips— oh God, Arthur feels his face flush hotly.

He’s built, with wide shoulders and thick arms, but what makes Arthur’s mouth go dry is his chest. The guy is wearing the most hideous paisley shirt Arthur has ever seen, purple with yellow swirls, but it stretches so tightly over his chest that Arthur can see the outline of his pecs and nipples. Half of the buttons are undone, revealing dark blond chest hair and what seem to be the black lines of a tattoo.

Arthur hates himself a little, but he will gladly forgive any crimes against fashion if they hide a body like this.

“Oh my god, that’s Eames,” Ariadne breathes. She’s gripping Arthur’s arm excitedly and gestures to the dance floor. Like there’s a single person who isn’t already looking there.

“You know that guy?” Arthur asks, without taking his eyes from Eames. Arthur feels the tiniest bit bad for objectifying him, but really, it’s his own fault for looking like Arthur’s every wet dream.

“He’s Mr. Darcy,” Ari says, sounding smug and pleased with herself. Arthur doesn’t have to look at her to know that she’s smirking at him.

Arthur lets his eyes travel higher and now he gets what Ari meant with feeling like fainting. Eames is gorgeous, with almost obscenely full lips and smiling eyes and even the side part in his slicked hair strangely fits him instead of looking like the rightful disaster it is. The hair makes it hard to guess his age, but he’s older than Arthur by at least by a couple of years, in his mid-twenties maybe.

Eames is putting on a solo show, moving like no man with that kind of body type has any right to move. He struts over the floor in long strides until he comes to a halt in the middle with his legs slightly apart and a hip cocked to the side. The way he moves his hands down slowly over his hips is positively filthy. Arthur feels himself grow hard and barely swallows a groan of embarrassment. There is no way his pants will hide anything.

Thankfully nobody pays him any attention. Everybody’s eyes are on Eames, the crowd clapping along to the song, the singer wailing _You Should Be Dancing_ in a perfect falsetto.

Eames smiles and beams at the crowd. He’s clearly soaking up the attention, thrusting and rotating his hips in a sensuous roll while doing four perfectly coordinated disco points. Everything looks effortless and easy, but even as somebody who knows shit about dancing Arthur can tell that it takes a lot of effort and practice to make it look like that.

Again there’s a sudden shift in the crowd, everybody moving back onto the dance floor when the song changes. Eames is swallowed in the throng of people, and Arthur is actually a little glad for it because it gives him a moment to compose himself before he faces Ariadne.

She’s already dancing next to him, looking down at his crotch with a pointed look and a smirk on her face before she takes his hand and puts a hand on his shoulder. Arthur turns her around in a move he sees a lot of other couples using and snaps a defiant “What” when she just keeps grinning at him with that knowing look.

“Nothing, I’ve just never seen you flustered like that.”

“Jesus, Ari, you were right, ok. He’s so hot I want to jump him and offer my virginity to him right here on the floor. Please don’t humiliate me any further by pointing out the painfully obvious.”

“Ok, I’ll keep my mouth shut and won’t tell you that he’s dancing right next to you and making out with a hot brunette.”

Of course Arthur looks and yeah, there’s Eames. He’s holding a really hot girl with curly brown hair close, dancing mostly on the spot. Arthur must be a masochist, because he keeps looking, the way those full lips slide over her mouth, kissing her wet and deep. For the second time in a week Arthur feels that pang of disappointment. It’s just his luck that he always gets hot for the wrong guys.

Luckily there’s a tap on Arthur’s shoulders before he can give in and wallow in misery and self-pity, and it’s actually the guy from the boutique.

“There you are, honey, fancy meeting you here. And you even brought a lovely friend.”

Ariadne introduces herself, smiling widely when the guy gallantly kisses her hand. She shoots Arthur a curious glance, but he shakes his head at her, mouthing _later_. That guy really is something. He’s wearing black pants, a completely unbuttoned animal print shirt tucked inside and his nails are sporting a matching manicure.

“Charmed to meet you, Ariadne. I’m Todd, by the way. I never got around to introduce myself properly to Arthur.” He slings his arms over both their shoulders, leading them towards the bar. “So, can I buy you younglings a drink? Only one of course, because obviously you are really too young to drink, and believe me, the barkeeper here is a lot less gullible than dear Bob at the door.”

Arthur leans back against the bar with a beer in his hand, observing another line dance on the dance floor. He never gave much thought to dancing, but he’s strangely intrigued by the way they all look so formal and casual at the same time. Todd is telling stories about his customers that have Ari in fits of laughter and would probably amuse Arthur, too, if he weren’t so distracted. He’s glad for the brief respite of having to entertain Ariadne and searches the dancers for Eames, but without any luck.

Todd eventually leaves them, joining the dancers, but not without a second drink for Ariadne, something fruity and colorful. Arthur declines because he still has to drive them both home. Time flies by even without alcohol, spent mostly with dancing until Arthur feels sweaty and gross and Ariadne bitches about her hurting feet. They walk to Arthur’s car with Ariadne barefoot and Arthur carrying her shoes for her, and by the time he stops his car in front of her house she’s way past her curfew.

“I really had a lot of fun tonight,” Ari says before she leaves the car, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “You’re the bestest best friend a girl can have.”

“You’re drunk,” Arthur laughs fondly. “Go to sleep. I have practice tomorrow — today, but I’ll come over on Sunday.” Ari gives him a little wave, wobbling on her feet as she walks to the house and by the time Arthur notices that she left her shoes she’s already inside.

***

His own home is completely dark when Arthur pulls into the driveway. It could mean that his father is staying at the studio he keeps in town for the nights he works even later than usual. Or it could mean that he’s home and didn’t bother to leave a light on for Arthur, or, what’s even more likely, that he didn’t even notice that Arthur was gone at all.

The house is big, too big for just two people, so Arthur has a small set of rooms for himself on the upper floor. He doesn’t bother to turn on the light, the glow from the street lamps enough for him to undress. He folds his clothes and puts them on top of the hamper before he flops down on his bed in just his boxers.

Arthur is tired, really tired and his feet hurt, but sleep won’t come. He keeps seeing Eames’ face, the way he moved his hips, his cock outlined perfectly in a pair of dress pants much like Arthur’s own. He groans quietly and slips a hand inside his boxers, curling his hand around his already half-hard cock.

He imagines sliding the shirt from those wide shoulders, running his hands over the hair on Eames’ chest. He wonders if it would be soft or coarse under his hands, how it would feel if he licked over it, trying to chase those lines of ink with his tongue. It’s a tribal tattoo, he thinks, something intricate and beautiful that curls around Eames’ pebbled nipples. Arthur gasps, fisting himself harder. He’s fully hard now and leaking copiously, his precome enough to make the strokes of his hand slick and easy. He pictures himself sliding to his knees, pulling down the zipper of Eames’ fly and meeting only skin and dark blond curls. Eames would take his cock out, take himself in one hand and cup Arthur’s head with the other, encouraging him silently to suck him.

Arthur’s breath hitches. He’s in that place right before sleep that makes him desperately horny but also takes a long time for him to come. He keeps drifting off, but the need to come is too strong to just let it go. He plants his feet on the bed and pushes up into his own fist, his fingers tight and slick, and yeah, that’s better.

He’d suckle the tip of Eames’ cock, teasing just the crown with his tongue until Eames would moan and push him to take more, would make him slide his lips down the thick shaft. Arthur brings his hand up and sucks on his fingers, imagines the way his lips would stretch so much wider around Eames’ girth. God, the taste of him— Arthur gasps quietly. He’s almost there, needs just a little bit more. He slides his now slick fingers between his legs and rubs them over his opening, teasing strokes that make him slide his feet wider and push up harder into his hand. He rubs his thumb over that place just below the crown of his cock and imagines it’s Eames finger that’s breaching him, stretching him until his eyes water with the burn of it.

Arthur comes hard and sudden, soaking his hand and boxers to thoughts of Eames coming on his face, moaning his name with the last letter drawn out, a deep growl that sounds like _Arthurrrr_.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you couldn't guess, this is heavily inspired by the movie Saturday Night Fever. It's been sitting as a WIP on my hard drive for a year now and while I cleaned it up to post it as an abandoned snippet, I decided that I actually love this story too much to let it go. So here it is, a full fledged work in progress that will contain a lot of angst, pining and sex. Not necessarily in that order.
> 
> Many thanks to eternalsojourn and anatsuno for their encouragement <3
> 
> Visual references for Eames' solo dance: [John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VNuknrly5Ao&feature=related) and [Chris Hemsworth on Dancing With the Stars](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kJ8FGRalerw&feature=related).


End file.
